Comforting the Enemy
by D McVetty
Summary: John Watson is grieving the loss of Sherlock Holmes when he finds a mysterious man who seems to share his pain. /Oneshot


_**note; **Written as part of my "one fic a day" challenge. Written in one hour, twenty-four minutes. May contain errors. Written in a diary style, as if he is still updating his blog after the fall.  
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**summary;** John Watson is grieving the loss of Sherlock Holmes when he finds a mysterious man who seems to share his pain.

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><p><em>August 10<em>_th__, 2011_

I was standing outside St Bart's today. It has been three months since Sherlock died. There was a man watching me. He followed me in a cab and got out a block away, but he walked back and watched. I stood outside Bart's for an hour. When I left, he followed me to 221B. I didn't see him after that.

_August 24__th__, 2011_

It has been two weeks since I saw the man at Bart's. I hadn't been back in that time. Maybe I didn't notice him following me, because when I got to the hospital today, I saw him standing on the corner down the way. When I tried to confront him, he hailed a cab and vanished into the streets. I asked Lestrade to track down the cab number. He said he would get back to me.

_August 29__th__, 2011_

This time I was ready. Lestrade tracked the cab number but there were no leads, so he sent me an escort. He didn't ask why I went to St Bart's on my own. No one really asks anymore. When I got out of the cab, Lestrade's men drove by slowly. The mystery man tailing me for the last three weeks didn't show up. Maybe he knew. No, of course he knew. He's been tailing me.

_August 31__st__, 2011_

I didn't tell Lestrade when I left the flat. I walked to St Bart's. It was a long trip, my leg has been acting up. I can't go anywhere without a cane and I've been out of work for a week. When I reached St Bart's, the man was already there, but he wasn't watching me. When he realized I was behind him, he turned with such a start I thought I may have given him a premature heart attack. He was a young fellow, tall and well muscled, pale with straw-colored blonde hair. I placed him as Scandinavian. His face was old, though, and his brown eyes sad. He apologized to me, and before I could ask him any questions, he hailed a cab and left.

I don't think he's dangerous.

_September 5__th__, 2011_

The man confronted _me_. I had expected him to run again, and I didn't bother trying to speak with him. He was quiet, and I felt much like a gazelle being stalked by a lion when he suddenly said, "You miss him." He was so close to me I could reach out and touch him, but I didn't, I only stared in mute disbelief at the man who'd managed to so easily sneak up on me.

He said his name was Sebastian Moran. He talked to me at some length about what a great man he was, and how his loss will be forever mourned. I didn't say anything back. I didn't know if he was trying to pull my leg for a laugh. He stared at the same spot I stared at, he had the same wounded expression on his face. I didn't know what to say, so I stayed quiet.

He thanked me for listening before he got a taxi. He asked if I wanted to ride back to Baker street with him. I politely declined.

_September 17__th__, 2011_

Sebastian and I have bumped into each other three times at Bart's. We speak of Sherlock quietly. I don't know who this man is, I can't look him up on google. I don't trust him as far as I can throw him, but he seems to be in as much pain as I am. Until I have reason to doubt him, I'll keep talking to him. It's better than my therapist.

_September 22__nd__, 2011_

He knocked on my door at ten past midnight. I text Lestrade, letting him know the situation. If they found my mutilated body later, at least the would know where to start looking. When I opened the door, Sebastian slunk in like a wounded animal, covered in blood. I didn't know what I was getting myself into. Certainly not this.

Against my better judgement I patched him up with the supplies I had, and when I was done, he fell sound asleep on the couch. He was gone in the morning, when I walked out. The door was closed, and there were oranges on the table.

I still don't know who he is.

_September 30__th__, 2011_

I didn't see Sebastian Moran for eight days. I was beginning to think he felt bad about coming to my flat bloody, but when I went to St Bart's, he was there. A new linen sling held his arm close to his chest. I didn't ask. We didn't speak, only stood close to each other.

When I left, he was still standing on the sidewalk. He was crying.

_October 4__th__, 2011_

I was eating breakfast when he walked into the flat like he lived there. This time, he wasn't bloody. The sling was gone, but he held his arm gingerly. So it was still sore, and he didn't have the luxury of waiting for it to heal. When he sat at the table, I could see that he'd been crying. I didn't go to work today. I stayed home to take care of Sebastian. I fell asleep on the couch comforting him, and when I woke up, he was gone.

I'm strangely comfortable with this.

_October 13__th__, 2011_

Sebastian came back today. It angers me just to think about it. He sat on Sherlock's couch, head in his hands, and said something that chilled me to the very bones. I still don't know what to think. I shoved him out the door, screaming abuse. Mrs. Hudson hurried down to make sure I was alright. I told her yes, but the real answer was no. I let her make me tea, I told her everything was fine. I called Lestrade for a car outside the flat, constant surveillance. I told Mrs. Hudson not to let strangers into the complex. Only when she left did I have time to myself.

This whole time, Sebastian and I had been mourning two different people. He was Moriarty's lapdog. The knowledge that I'd shared air space with him makes me ill just thinking about it.

I shot holes in the wall until Sherlock's ammunition supply was gone. Mrs. Hudson didn't bother me.

_December 20__th__, 2011_

Sebastian Moran disappeared from London. Lestrade couldn't find him anywhere. Sherlock's homeless network did no better. I burnt out on the chase weeks ago. Still no news.

_January 1__st__, 2012_

I remembered the first time I saw Sherlock Holmes. I spent the day drinking wine alone in my flat.

_May 1__st__, 2012_

Irene Adler came by to see how I was holding up. She seemed well. I lied to her and let her leave early. I haven't left the flat in a week.

_May 4__th__, 2012_

I was standing on the roof of Bart's when my phone rang. My toes were over the edge, my eyes were on the sidewalk below. Something told me to check my phone, and I did. It said one thing. One thing only.

_Please don't - SH_


End file.
